Scared
by PatientPoet
Summary: Rated M for later chapters and my paranoia. MycroftxOC. Mycroft finally got tired of sitting on the sidelines while Sherlock went off and solved crimes. He got a bit more than he bargained for and hasn't been able to get over it.
1. Babysitting

**Babysitting**

Mycroft had never been very fond of Sherlock's friends. Come to think he wasn't always very fond of Sherlock. Needless to say he was sick and tired of his little brother running off, getting himself and others injured, and inevitably sending said injured parties to recover with him. That's why just that once Mycroft had decided to go with his brother on one of his excursions. He hadn't been the same since.

"Mycroft, are you awake?" Sherlock whispered poking his head into the bedroom. _Oh, sod off Sherly…_ he thought.

All he had done since their return was sleep and work. He could barely even eat any more, something Sherlock had actually tried to get him to cut back on given his formerly generous weight but neither brother ever thought it would really happen.

"Get up Mycroft! Honestly, if you're going to play dead you can at least be productive doing it." Always the drama queen, Sherlock was focused only on convenience.

"You're going to visit Miss Althea today. The least you could do is dress yourself." Sherlock grumbled under his breathe. Ordinarily Mycroft would've fought him tooth and nail before having his little brother send him off anywhere. This however was not ordinary, he quite simply didn't care.

The older man buried his face in his pillow and sighed, "To who and why are you sending me brother?"

"You remember Althea Elliot. Friend of Watson's family," Sherlock said trying to pack his brothers bag and keep the conversation going, "Psychiatrist. A good one at that. As for why, I have business to attend to and I must leave the country to do so" Mycroft cringed, after the last excursion he loathed the idea of his little brother doing anything of the sort again, "And you won't take care of yourself if I'm gone."

_Lovely_, he thought, _I'm being sent to a stranger in Scotland, a hick too no doubt, to be babysat._


	2. First Impressions

A/N : Hey there this is my first fic so I'd like to thank Dragon of Ice and Light for being my first watcher and wish you all a good read. I apologize if it's slow. There'll be better chapters. I promise. Comments and such appreciated.

**First Impressions**

When they left the train Mycroft's spirits had only worsened. Hours of listening to Sherlock babble on with Watson about this new case… The good doctor, naturally, kept glancing over at him as if wondering how long it would be before he just collapsed.

It being the middle of October there were very few people actually at the train station. "Remember your manners brother. She's only doing this as a favor to Watson and myself."

Mycroft sighed. "Althea! There you are!" Watson called out and gave her a friendly hug.

All very suddenly, for the first time in a long while mind you, Mycroft found himself extremely aware of his ill-fitting clothes and the fact that he couldn't remember when his last haircut had been. Standing before him with long reddish-brown hair, emerald green eyes, standing as tall as himself was the woman he was meant to stay with for the duration of Sherlock's trip. _Oh… this Althea…_

"Good to see you Watson. And you as well Sherlock." She smiled warmly at the two 22 year old men.

"Always a pleasure Althea." Sherlock said bowing his head slightly, "You remember my brother." He gestured at Mycroft who, much to his dismay, found himself tongue tied.

"H-Hello," he said inclining his head.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. His brother never stammered. "Pleasure to see you again Mycroft. Welcome to Scotland."

By the time they reached Althea's house Mycroft had settled back into his lethargy, though not as bad as it had been in England. Sherlock and Watson said their goodbye's and left the pair of them alone.

With unspoken consent Althea placed a hand gently between his shoulder blades and steered him towards the room he'd be staying in. His heart kicked up the beat to double time. Even before he'd become melancholy he had tried to avoid interaction with the other gender.

It was actually a rather large house, maybe 3 or 4 kilometers out from the city, in the country.

"Alright, this is your room," she indicated the door as she opened it to reveal a moderately large room with sky blue walls.

She waited for him to sit on the bed before she pulled the chair out from the writing desk in the corner. "I've been told you've been ill is that right?"

Mycroft nodded his head slowly and clasped his hands in his lap.

"All of what Sherlock's told me is true?"

He nodded again.

"Okay. As long as you're staying with me you need to come to at least two meals a day and you have to be clothed and showered for at least one of them. Otherwise, I don't have any rules for you that you wouldn't already use as common sense."

"I will abide by them" he promised, feeling more than a little awkward.

She put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

And with that she left him to unpack whatever Sherlock through in his bag. He pulled himself to the window to watch the sun setting over the horizon. Then to the bathroom down the hall to stand in front of the mirror. For a moment a little of his old self returned to berate him for what he saw. His mousey brown hair had gone shaggy and unwashed, his chin was covered with stubble, his clothes were filthy and wrinkled, his eyes dark, and though he was still a little portly it occurred to him that he must've lost over 50lbs and not in a good way… _No wonder Sherlock was worried…_

He showered quickly but forwent the shave. It felt strangely nice to be in clean clothes again, however, it was a very unpleasant reminder that they hung off him like a flag on a pole.

He kicked himself for forgetting the kind woman who he'd kept council with so many years ago. Then again, he'd been perhaps 23 at the time. He cringed. 7 years ago and she was still happy to take him in.

Mycroft slowly made his way down the stairs. He felt almost mechanical, his heart was still painted black but his limbs moved on anyway. Truth to tell, the smell had him before he even saw the kitchen. Even with loss of appetite he almost felt hungry at the smell. Almost.

"Glad to see you still catch on quick." Althea said as she walked out the kitchen door throwing him a warm smile. _How could I ever have forgotten her?_ he wondered when his heart jumped into his throat.

What smell had failed to do was finished off by the sight of the food Althea put on the table.

"Oh, in case I forgot to mention," she spun around to face him, lifting his chin with a spoon, "when I say that you need to come to two meals that implies that you must eat at them."

He blushed profusely under her intense gaze. Finally he nodded, relieved to see that for one reason or other she was blushing a little bit too.

All through dinner Althea managed to keep him talking about simple things like history and politics. In fact, once or twice she had conjured a ghost of a smile to his lips. It took him a moment to realize—and he was almost certain she had used a psychology trick to accomplish this –she had gotten him to eat more in one sitting than he had in three days with Sherlock.

She smiled at him from across the table. Something inside him melted a little. "And Sherly said he couldn't get you to talk."

Mycroft took a sudden interest in the oh-so-fascinating patterns of the table. "Sherlock's not quite as easy to talk to…" he mumbled.

The remainder of the evening passed in the sitting room where a maid—Rosa she said her name was –made them each a cup of tea with which they talked into the night.

They went up to bed at maybe half past two in the unholy hour of the night. She walked him to his room, "Sleep well" she murmured. Her blush barely concealed by the dark.

Mycroft smiled genuinely for the first time in 3 months. "Good night"


	3. Things That Go Boom in the Night

**Things That Go Boom in the Night**

It was three weeks before he really started to look like himself again. Well, a somewhat thinner version of himself. Now he remembered why he hadn't bothered to try to lose weight before. Skinny just didn't look right on him. Though if Althea's cooking had anything to say about it he wouldn't stay skinny for very long.

Then it was another three weeks, the beginning of December, before Mycroft really felt like himself. Every day he spent a little more time out of his room. Every day she got him to talk a little more, eat a little more, smile a little more.

In mid-November he'd started considering telling her about his 'adventure' with Sherlock who, if telegrams were to be believed, was hunting someone in Germany. He could never bring himself to tell her.

Not for lack of trust but out of a small degree of sympathy. Indeed, he having never been a talkative man found himself smiling when she got home, sighing when she smiled, and trusting her so profoundly that he almost felt foolish.

No, it was certainly not a lack of trust. The problem was that she went to the office six out of seven days a week. Upon coming home -from what he saw out the window because she made very certain to mask it before walking in- Althea was weary and tired.

He didn't want to add to that. All he wanted was to see her smile again.

It was a dreary afternoon. Clouds were gathered and foreboding with the promise of a thunder storm.

"Hey Thea," Mycroft said looking up from his book.

"Hello Mahon." She rejoined bending down to give him a quick hug before heading for the kitchen.

He followed her, "Two questions if I might ask?"

Althea looked at him quizzically over the various utensils she was holding. "Okay, let's hear them."

"What's 'Mahon' mean? And why do you insist on cooking when you have a maid?" he asked.

She chuckled, "First, I insist upon cooking because I find it to be a relaxing pass time and last I checked you weren't complaining." She gently pinched his side throwing him a teasing smile. He returned by blushing and gingerly placing a hand on his softened middle, "Second, I call you 'Mahon' because in Irish it means bear."

"Bear? Why a bear?"

She stirred her concoction thoughtfully before answering. "Hmmm… I suppose you just remind me of a bear."

"I remind you of something big, feral, and filthy? Thanks…"

Althea cast a raised eyebrow at him, "Not exactly. You remind me of something big and fluffy. More of a cub really."

This time he smiled. As she was wiping her hands off after putting the mix in the oven he walked up and hugged her from behind, feeling her tense muscles relax.

She turned in his embrace so that she was facing him and hugged him back. They could have easily stood there all night but Rosa walked in and if anything went without saying it was that neither of them wanted word of it to get to Sherlock and Watson.

Rain had started pouring down in sheets by the time they retired to the sitting room. The odd thing was that over the past months their seats had moved closer and closer until they realized that they were now sitting together on a small couch next to the fire place.

Mycroft sat by the fire smiling to himself, _She didn't slap me… Always a good sign_ he thought sipping his tea, waiting for Althea to come back down from putting her book away.

That's when the sky broke loose with a deafening crack and a jolt of light. The sound scared him so badly he nearly jumped out of his seat.

Suddenly the fire wasn't so bright anymore… There was another crack. Mycroft cringed and pulled his knees to his chest.

CRACK! He shut his eyes tightly in a vain attempt to block out the flash.

CRACK! He started to shake now.

CRACK! _Please…_ he thought,_ Please just make it stop…_

A hand brushed his shoulder, he shook even more violently. "Mycroft? What's wrong?" Althea whispered.

He tried to answer but all he could get out was a small whimper. Something in the back of his mind felt ashamed that he could collapse so easily.

CRACK! He cringed again on the verge of tears.

Althea sat next to him on the couch and held him in a loose embrace. She gently pulled him over, he was happy to let her, until his head rested in the crook of her neck.

"It's alright Mahon." She whispered softly into his ear, "It's alright. Nothing bad is going to happen. Not while I'm here."

The shivering lessened and he buried his face against her warm skin. She ran hand over his hair and neck for a little while whispering comfort in her friend's ear like a warm breeze on a cold night.

Mycroft's breathing slowed. The shaking was reduced to something akin to the way one might shiver from frigid air.

A peculiar thing you would've seen if you'd looked in the window of Miss Elliot's house that night. That is, had you been daft enough to stand out in the storm.

You would have seen Miss Althea herself holding a much larger man, though his current countenance made him seem rather small. If you were perceptive you might have seen her kiss him lightly on the cheek every so often as she wiped away his tears. Finally, should your hearing have been inhuman, you could've heard her singing a silky lullaby that hung in the air long after they had both fallen asleep.


	4. Flash and Bang

A/N: This is where it starts getting T and hopefully (should inspiration strike me) M'ish.

Chapter 4:

Mycroft woke feeling warm but rather stogy; the curtains were drawn, ashes smoldering in the fire place, and a certain redhead had her arms wrapped around him from behind. He never thought he'd be so grateful to have his back to her. Even more grateful, he was for the position, when one of Althea's hands slid lightly down from chest, to stomach, to thigh forcing him to bite back a whimper.

A guilty pleasure tugged at his lips. Scandalous. Absolutely scandalous. When he was a boy at boarding school he was told he'd be damned for being in any situation of this sort. He sighed, wishing she'd hold him closer. Condemnation was his saving grace.

"How you holding up Mahon?" she asked. He inhaled sharply, having not realized she was awake... or how good her breath would feel on his neck. "Sorry," she wrapped her arms a little tighter to calm him down. He could feel the blush in her cheeks when she removed her hand from his thigh. He'd be lying to say he wasn't more than a little disappointed. "Didn't mean to scare you"

She hopped over the back of the couch leaving the space behind him empty except for her lingering warmth. Before he could move to get up she pulled the blanket around him, kissed his cheek, and moved off into the kitchen.

_S-she…_, his thoughts tried to organized themselves, _she cares… _It was never really that he thought she didn't care. Mycroft found himself stunned into silence because he never knew someone could care so much. He never knew that someone could make him care.

The smells of breakfast wafted into the room making his stomach rumble, forcing his to get up and wash his face. When he looked in the mirror his mind wandered to his first night here. He noted the changes in his reflection: decent hair cut (if disheveled), shaven, now quite a bit more rotund (particularly around the middle). Still a mystery to his sleep addled mind, he looked younger than when he had first come to stay with Althea.

"Mahon, you okay?"

Mycroft nearly jumped at the sound of her voice. It never ceased to amaze him that with all his powers of deduction he had never been able to devise a reliable way to detect her footsteps.

"Y-yes, much better now. Thank you Thea"

"Good," she smiled and wrapped her arm around his waist, "come on now, breakfast is ready"

As they ate a tension began to build in the pit of his stomach, it would be very difficult to hide the problem from Althea is the weather persisted. The nights rain had given way to snow but there was always the chance that the thunderstorms could return. She could help him, he knew that much, but at what tax to herself? By the time they returned to the couch the tension was too great to keep in.

Mycroft ran his thumb along the rim of his mug, "Do you remember how you told me I could talk to you whenever the need arose..?"

Althea raised an eyebrow quizzically, "Of course, and the offer stands"

"I… erm… I owe you an explanation… about last night" he swallowed, "I-I'm not afraid of storms"

She nodded as if she had suspected as much, placing her hand over his in a reassuring gesture that made his resolve stutter. "Gun shots"

"Pardon?"

"It sounded like a gunshot" he clenched his fists to keep back the tremors that shook them. All at once it was as though flood gates had been opened. He told her everything that had happened on his excursion with Sherlock, the memory forcing its way into his reality for a short time, demanding its recognition.

-Flashback-

The air smelled of sulfur and gunpowder, shots rang through the air promising injury to their targets.

Sherlock was, as was his nature, jumping around on top of machinery far too dangerous for him to operate let alone be playing on.

Mycroft was operating one of the pulley contraptions whose name he had never been troubled enough to learn and was no swinging at some unfortunate soul that his brother had been tracking.

Sherlock pulled out a pistol. Fire, Bang! Fire, Bang! Fire, Bang! Three men dropped dead around him. Sherlock pulled something from one of the men's pockets and waved it up for Mycroft to see but Mycroft was already occupied.

Cold steel pressed into the base of his skull. He'd been so concentrated on operating the blasted machine that he hadn't heard his assailant. He heard the man now, however, with great detail. Labored breathing hitting the sweat on the back of his neck, the movement of his palm against the handle of the gun.

His vision sharpened dramatically, trying to see the entirety of the world as if his eyes might never see again. Sherlock's face paled and he raised his own pistol.

*click*

*pop*

Mycroft waited for the darkness to descend upon him but heard only the thud of his assailant falling to the floor behind him. He put a shaking hand to his ear to find blood streaming from it.

Sherlock bolted into the room and picked up the fallen man's pistol.

"You damned lucky this jammed… Mycroft?"

Nothingness.

< Prev 1. Babysitting2. First Impressions3. Things That Go Boom in the Night4. Flash and Bang

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